


Then He Goes and Opens His Mouth

by clover_covered_hills



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s01e01 Pilot (X-Files), Episode: s06e03 Triangle, Episode: s06e08 The Rain King, Episode: s06e12 One Son, Episode: s06e19 The Unnatural, Episode: s07e04 Millennium, Episode: s07e17 All Things, F/M, Gratuitous use of slides, Movie: The X-Files: Fight the Future (1998), Post-Episode: s06e21 Field Trip, Specs of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clover_covered_hills/pseuds/clover_covered_hills
Summary: From the very beginning of the partnership, Mulder just can’t seem to stop acting like an asshat to Scully. But one with really nice eyes.





	Then He Goes and Opens His Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to my sisters in all things weird and wacky: the wonderful #spookytribe, especially to greekowl87 for providing much valued beta and to vespagirl04 for teaching me the differences in east and west coast pronunciation of Oregon.
> 
> Also, this is the first fic I’ve ever posted, so please be kind

_Why do I have such an issue with letting myself succumb to my partner’s often questionable charms? I sometimes find myself thinking of him - okay - romantically. One of his crooked yet sweet smiles often the cause of my heart missing a beat. His passion and zest for life, his honesty. Then he spoils it. And causes me to just want to shove whatever pointy implement I have to hand where the sun doesn’t shine. Ugh. It’s always been this way. Let’s start at the very beginning. A very good place to start..._

March 6 1993

 _Cool and calm,_ I think to myself, _you will be cool and calm. And polite. Ignore the rumors. He really can’t be that bad. No one could be *that* bad._ I walk down the dingy, dusty, stale corridor, my heels echoing. _On my way to the infamous basement office, great._ I can’t help noticing the stacks upon stacks of boxes full of paperwork lining the length of the wall. _Fire risk._ I reach the darkest end of the corridor and the door that separates me from Spooky Mulder. My new partner. _Jesus. Okay, you got this._ I breathe in and knock three times.

Then a voice, male, sarcastic,“Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted”. _Hmm. So Agent Mulder has an attitude problem. Big surprise._

Fighting not to roll my eyes - _remember, cool, calm and polite, Dana_ \- I enter the office. 

_Oh. Okay. Maybe office is a little optimistic. Black hole would be more accurate._ Layer upon layer of case files cover every table top and desk surface available. Countless overlapping crime scene photos and random newspaper articles are pinned to the wall. Finally my eyes leave the disorganized chaos and fall on the man himself. Or rather, on the back of his head. _Rude._

Eventually he turns from the slide carrousel that he has evidently been preparing. _All this for little ol’ me. Why, you really shouldn’t ha-_ I stop mid-thought as his hooded eyes meet mine. My sister has always referred to old souls in young bodies. I’ve never given it much credence until now. _Oh. And so so striking behind those glasses. What color are they, grey, green, hazel-?_

I collect my thoughts and introduce myself before the atmosphere gets any more awkward. “Agent Mulder. I’m Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you”. Inwardly I kick myself. _Well, duh, Dana. Why else would you be here?_

“Oh, isn’t it nice to be so highly regarded. So, who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?”

 _Keep smiling. Play nice._ “Actually, I’m looking forward to working with you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” _And none of it exaggerated, it seems. The looks or the ego-_

“Oh, really. I was under the impression that you were sent here to spy on me”. _Yup. Rude *and* obnoxious. What joy._

“If you have any doubt about my qualifications or credentials-”

He interrupts me, “You’re a medical doctor. You teach at the academy.” _No no keep the glasses on - oh they’re hazel. Maybe. Definitely not brown anyway._ “You did your undergraduate degree in physics. ‘Einstein’s Twin Paradox - A New Interpretation’. Dana Scully’s senior thesis. Now that’s a credential, rewriting Einstein.” 

_Thaaat’s me. My my, someone’s done their homework. What do you want, Agent Mulder, a fucking medal? Jerk._ “Did you bother to read it?”

“I did. I liked it.” _Oh, really. There’ll be a test later._ “It’s just that, in most of my work the rules of physics don’t seem to apply”. 

He then starts the damn slide show, asking my _medical_ opinion on identifying some marks found on the back of a dead young Oregon female, cause of death unknown. “Needle punctures maybe. An animal bite. Electrocution of some kind.” _Really, just how am I supposed to tell from a photograph? And please, say ‘Oregon’ again for me._

On to the next slide, “How’s your chemistry? This is the substance found in the surrounding tissue.”

 _What the -_ “I don’t know - it’s organic - I don’t know. Is it some kind of synthetic protein?” I try to look closer, except Special Agent Jerk-features whizzes on to the next slide. And the next. Always talking, posturing. _Oh, he doesn’t know what it is either. Amazing._

I realize half of this show is just that - a show. The other half - who knows? Might as well enjoy the performance. Eventually he gets to his point, “Maybe you can explain why it’s bureau policy to label these cases as ‘unexplained phenomenal’ and ignore them”. _Oh, brother._ Then this clearly much rehearsed, whispered punchline: “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

 _*Come* *on*._ Torn between wanting to applaud or giggle, I decide on a more professional approach and somehow manage to keep a straight face. Call his bluff. “Logically, I would have to say no. Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements alone would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities-”

Mulder interrupts me again ( _ugh, stop doing that_ ), “Conventional wisdom. You know this Oregon female, she’s the fourth person in her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances.” _You couldn’t have told me that earlier? Also, where’s “Oregone”? It’s O-re-gen. It’s *really* not that difficult-_ “Now when convention and science offer us no answers, might we finally turn to the fantastic?”

 _Right. That’s it. I can take only so much._ “The girl obviously died of something. If it was natural causes, it’s plausible that something was missed in the post-mortem. If she was murdered, it’s plausible that there was a sloppy investigation. What I find fantastic is any notion that there are any answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there - you just have to know where to look.” _Beat that, punk._

“That’s why they put the ‘I’ in FBI.” _Oh you mother fu-_ “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Scully, bright and early. We leave for the very plausible state of Oregon at 8am.” 

Despite myself, I can’t help smiling. As I turn to leave, I realize I need more flight details - which airport, which terminal, flight number, etcetera, etcetera. His earlier hubris is spoiled by a mad rummage to find the information in all the documentation piled on his desk. And as Mulder hands over the scribbled note, our hands touch and there *is* a spark. Unfortunately for romantics everywhere though, it’s one caused by the static from the man-made fibers of my too big suit.

 _That first meeting really summed up our first case. I found out the full story about his sister. After I’d panicked and pretty much all but flashed him - well it was dark and I found marks on my back and they kinda looked like the ones on - okay, it got to me. *Anyway*, we developed a spiky kind of trust, that became less spiky as time passed. Mulder never did learn how to pronounce ‘Oregon’. But I learned to stop wincing inside whenever he crucified it and other place names. Even when he teased me about being unable to say ‘undoubtedly’. Prick._

************************************************************************************************

August 28 2000

I learned to care for him, then care about him, and then- 

But workplace romances, while so _juicy_ in the movies, are seldom a good idea. Take it from the woman who knows. Exhibit A, my medical instructor, Dr. Daniel Waterston. Mature, brilliant, gifted, passionate, opinionated - and as it turned out to my Catholic-raised horror, very very married. I ended it as soon as I found out. But, as I found out recently, too late to stop the end of the marriage and the disruption in the relationships between husband and wife, father and daughter. Too late to stop a young girl, not much younger than myself, become bitter and angry at life. 

Exhibit 2 - uh sorry - B: Jack Wills, one of my instructors during my FBI training. The polar opposite to Daniel. Let me be as I wanted, respected my opinions. Great in the sack. But his love of the job eventually left little time or energy for me, as needy as that sounds. Not to mention the unpleasant rumors that spread about us at the time.

And then Mulder’s ex. Diana. His former partner. His _ex-wife_. And ultimately both his betrayer and saviour. 

So, you see, workplace romance: not a wonderful idea.

Yes, there are times - when I had cancer Mulder was so gentle and caring, after the bomb in Dallas and I doubted my ability to continue in the job I love he told me so wonderful things, and looked like he was going to kiss me. But after he found my cure, when I tried to initiate a little ‘consorting’ accompanied by wine and cheese, Mulder ran like an frightened boy. After the failed kiss (cockblocked by a fucking _*bee*_ of all things), Mulder made it clear he didn’t want to think about it. Oh, in a less lucid moment (heavily drugged after getting shipwrecked in the Bermuda Triangle, don’t ask) he did mumble an ‘I love you’. But afterwards he was all Mulder and I was being too ‘personal’, even as I was trying to warn him about Diana. 

There was the time Mulder ‘taught’ me how to hit a baseball. As if two brothers and a sports-mad father hadn’t shown me already. The memory of his warmth against my back, his arms around me in a barely disguised hug, hands fighting for possession of the ‘nice piece of ash’. The horror a few weeks later of fungus sourced hallucinations of his death. 

Then came Kroner, Kansas. You’d have thought sharing a room as a result of his being destroyed by flying cow would have pushed us together an the altogether. You’d be awfully, tragically wrong. Forced to share a bed, every time I went anywhere near him, he recoiled, as if afraid of cooties from being too near a girl. I got the hint. Annoyed at the mixed messages I was receiving, in retaliation I bitched at him to tidy up after himself and stop hogging the bed and hot water. He responded with his trademark sarcasm and indifference.

After his unscheduled, illicit kidnapping and brain surgery, after I found him, and took him to an actual hospital, after he came home, after all that - his *Touchstone*, he called me. What could I do but return the sentiments?

But as always, afterwards he was _Mulder._ Teasing, thoughtless _Mulder._ And it was enough to seed doubt in my mind. For months I chose to carry on with the status quo. Always holding back. 

A kiss then, at New Years. But he was on painkillers again and how much of him meant it? How much was about the time and date? More doubt, more time passing. But Mulder becoming so attentive, his empty flirtation turning into, dare I say it, something resembling courtship. 

He seemed hurt that I didn’t want to follow him to England, to rainy, soggy Wiltshire to witness the appearance of crop circles near ‘Av-berry’. But it was meant to be, a few days without Mulder gave me clarity. I can see my path forward now.

I’ve had such a strange week. Meeting Daniel again. Realizing what I could have had, finding relief that I didn’t choose that path, didn’t become a possession of a possessive man. Realizing what I wanted, do want. Who I want. Mulder.

Which leaves me here. Paralyzed in his living room, in limbo on his sofa. Sitting in the dark. Alone. Always alone. No. 

Suddenly I feel like I’m in a dream. Time slows like it has in moments over the last few days. I feel it; this is significant, this will change everything.

I rise and go to Mulder’s bedroom. The door has been left ajar, and is soundless as I open it and walk in. 

“Mulder”, I whisper loudly, “are you awake?”

A pause, a thud, a yelp, then, “Jesus Christ, Scully, give a guy some warning.” He chuckles gently, though, so I know that there’s no real harm done. 

I sit on the edge of the bed. “Mulder, I’ve been thinking,” I stop, waiting for a wisecrack. When none come, I look at him and notice in the faint glow from a streetlight outside that his face is probably the most emotional I’ve ever seen it, drugged, drunk or sober. Oh. He’s waiting for me, willing me on. Letting this be my choice, my decision. _Mulder you know me so well._ His hand reaches for mine, gently holding it, his thumb soothing, reassuring me. I take a breath and continue, “I think you know what I feel for you. I love you - have been *in* love with you for so long. I think,” I pause, trying to find the words.

Mulder moves. I expect him to speak up. But fortunately, given his track record with opening his mouth, his common sense prevails. He moves his hands to my face. And finally, beautifully, wonderfully, he kisses me. I move over to get a better angle, snuggle closer to him. Then a thought occurs to me. “Just to check, Mulder,” I say “You aren’t drunk or drugged or..”

“Or concussed. No,” Mulder finishes for me. “just a bit jet lagged. And in case I’ve not been clear, I’m in love with you too. Have been since you zapped me with your crappy suit. Maybe a bit before.”

“...” actually I’m speechless. 

“You got under my skin, somehow,” he continues. “I didn’t want you to, Diana nearly destroyed me when she moved to Europe, it left me broken. I decided I only had room for Samantha and finding her. Everything else was just a distraction. But then you arrived, and you, you were *you*. Big eyes, big heart, big suit. Handy with a scalpel.”

“...” okay this is ridiculous, I have to say something. I swallow and unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Mulder,” I finally manage.

“Hmm?”

My psyche decides for some reason to channel Mulder’s, and I can only think of one thing to say. “I love you, really, but you mangle place names. It’s Avebury. Ayve-bu-ry. Not Av-berry. And Oregon is, well, Oregon.” 

He stares at me, then lets out a belly laugh, holding me close. “Undoubtedly,” he says, rolling us over.

**Author's Note:**

> For dates and timelines, I know the Pilot is time stamped 1992, but CC has said himself that this was a typo and should have been 1993. And it makes the jump to April 1993 for Deep Throat make more sense as they still seem not entirely at ease with each other. The Pilot scene with the grave digging (and angry angry Dr. Nemmen) is time stamped March 7, so the day M+S first met must therefore be March 6 1993. Which was a Saturday. Oh dear. This can only mean Scully had a penchant for working weekends, grabbing life by the metaphorical and actual pancreas, before she met Mulder. Poor Mulder. Gets the blame for everything. (On a side note - do exhumations ever occur on a Sunday?)
> 
> All Things is harder to pin down as no actual date or day appears anywhere in the episode. Thanks Gillian. We love you anyway. Chimera (the previous episode) takes place in April - May 2000. Fight Club, Je Souhaite and Requiem all apparently occurred in May 2000 (a particularly busy month, it seems, especially given how long it takes for a wired-shut, broken jaw to heal. Actually I’ve no idea how long this takes, but probably much, much longer than a week?). However, as William/Jackson was born May 2001 (let’s assume his actual date of birth was May 21 2001, date is not given in the episode, but seems to be a Monday based on events in Essence/ Existence and it makes sense for it to be the day after the original air date), I’m assuming his ‘creation’ (gah) occurred 38 weeks previously so let’s say conception occurred around August 28 2000 (babies spend around 38 weeks in the womb, but the average pregnancy length is counted as 40 weeks, calculated from the last period). 
> 
> Let’s just all be reassured that a March 2000 conception (from any ‘occurrences’-blugh-in En Ami) is highly unlikely, unless little William is not only part alien but also part camel (over 60 weeks gestation, apparently).


End file.
